Harry Potter: And the Towering Turret
by krumblebumble
Summary: A first year student at Hogwarts has gone missing and in his sixth year, Harry is thrust into a mystery more compelling and unfathomable than ever before. Plunged into the ashes of his past, unsure if he will ever return, Harry must be braver than ever.


(Author's Note: Harry, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley, Mrs. Figg, and Mr. Tibbles aren't mine. They're J.K. Rowling's.)  
  
Chapter One: The Many Cats of Mrs. Figg  
  
Although the morning mists still hovered close to the ground and the sun was only beginning to shade the horizon orange, a skinny boy with untidy black hair and glasses had already been up for an hour. He sat, curled up in his bed as he stared out the window. In his lap was a Newspaper and a large roll of parchment. He, however seemed to be paying no attention to them.  
  
''Did you hear them? Through the veil?" he thought. "There was something beyond the veil. I want to talk to Sirius! I want to talk to my Godfather! It's my fault he's dea-" he stopped, "Don't think about those things," he told himself. It was that very reason he had been up so early. For the third night in a row, he woke up, drenched in sweat, each night having watched his Godfather die again. For the third time, he listened to the malicious laughter of the death eaters as his handsome Godfather fell into darkness and despair.  
  
This night however, had been different. Instead of waking up right after Sirius fell, Harry heard the voices after he went through the veil. They were in no language he understood, but there had been soft, wispy voices. "Could they be welcoming Sirius to the afterlife?" thought Harry. "Is this where for the first time in fifteen years he met my father and mother again. Is this where Cedric is?"  
  
Harry lay back down and stared at the plain white ceiling above his bed. There had been much for him to think about this summer; Sirius, Lord Voldemort, The Order, and the prophecy that Dumbledore told Harry about, for the first time. The prophecy, which said that Harry's life, must end in, or include murder. Try as Harry might, he couldn't help feeling a slight tinge of hopelessness and fear, the greatest burden of all, that his life was going to be so painful and sadistic. For the first time that summer, he had wondered whether his life was really worth living, although his mother had sacrificed herself for him. The whole wizarding world was looking at him, for it was only he who could vanquish the dark lord for eternity.  
  
As Harry thought about these things, other things slowly began to occupy his mind. In his hands, he clenched his O.W.L.s results, something he had been looking forward to for weeks. A small smiled crossed his face. He had gotten eight OWL's. He had scored Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and surprisingly, and somehow magically, potions. He had scored "exceeds expectations" in Transfiguration, and Charms and scored a pass in everything else, except for Divination, which as Ron explained in a letter he had sent Harry that morning "we didn't need anyway." With these scores, Harry knew that he had a better chance of becoming an Auror, and a better chance of finally defeating Lord Voldemort, as the prophecy said he might.  
  
In his other hand, lay the Daily Prophet, the Newspaper that for the past year had been calling him a fanatical, disturbed liar. It wasn't until now that the wizarding newspaper hailed Harry as a hero of the wizarding world, he had gone from "one-famous, now disturbed Mr. Potter", to "the-boy-who-lived". He was the famous icon of the magical world. He knew that there were those who thought that he would be the one to take down the Dark Lord, as Harry had already encountered him four times after his fall, and survived. But Harry now knew why he had survived. It was the fact that a force powerful enough to stop the almighty hate of the Dark Lord had been given to him, because his mother died to save him. It was magic more powerful that the most complex spell, yet it was so simple; it was the magic of love  
  
That summer he had received numerous letters from Hermione, Ron, Lupin, Hagrid, and even a letter from Dumbledore. They were all checking to make sure he was doing well. The first week after school term ended, Harry had gotten a letter from Hermione, giving him a hint of what her and Ron might have been up to.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Obviously I can't tell you everything, but if you read the newspaper carefully you'll get a vague hint of what is going on. It's all just starting and Dumbledore reckons that if we act fast it will all be over soon. Fudge is hanging on to every piece of Dumbledore's advice and at least that's an improvement now. We expect to see you sometime soon, although Ron's mom said that it's best you stay there for at least a few more weeks. This summer I'm studying Advanced Aquatic Transformation and it's been truly delightful. Hope to see you soon!  
  
Love From,  
  
Hermione  
  
For the past few weeks the Daily Prophet had strained itself as it pumped out dozens and now hundreds of articles about how to withstand curses and how to determine if someone has been influenced by the Imperius Curse. The only interesting bit had come nearly a week ago, and was squashed in a tiny corner on the seventh page.  
  
Muggles Missing Near The Forest of Dean:  
  
Although Muggle news, it has been reported that a family traveling to their  
summer home in southern Scotland have gone missing. Although dozens of Muggle's go missing every day, it is reported that these Muggles had a son who was scheduled to go to Hogwarts this year, so his parents knew about magic. Although this news wouldn't normally be printed in our newspaper,  
Junior Correspondant Alfida Montage agrees that due to the current  
situation,  
These types of events should be taken into consideration.  
  
For some reason, Harry seemed to believe that this was a bit fishy as well. He had half the mind to send a letter to Hermione and Ron, or even Dumbledore, asking what this was about, but decided not to. He was sure that he wasn't needed and that he would only be fussed at for trying to "play hero" again, which was something that had occupied Harry's mind for the past month. If he hadn't tried to have played hero with Sirius, then maybe he would still be alive. It was his fault he had die- "Don't think about that," Harry reminded himself for what seemed like the twentieth time that morning, but, without Sirius, it seemed like part of Harry was gone too, and although Sirius had only been part of his life for two years, it seemed like he was Harry's best friend. Harry felt like part of him was missing, or that he could never truly live again.  
  
Although many people admired and respected Harry now, there were still those who were detested by his presence. Time had not changed Vernon and Petunia Dursley's attitude towards Harry at all. Although they were now terrified of him, as it had been his fault that Uncle Vernon had lost a business deal, his sister had swelled up to the size of a small elephant and floated around the ceiling for hours, his living room had been half destroyed, and his son Dudley had nearly died last summer when attacked by a dementor  
  
It was at that time when Harry's Aunt Petunia, a thin trophy-wife of Uncle Vernon, whose favorite activity was to pry over the fences and spy on the neighbors wrapped on the door, and her shrill high-pitched voice shattered the silence in Harry's bedroom.  
  
"Up! Up! What are you doing boy? There are chores to be done!" she screamed, opening the door.  
  
Harry sighed. For the past few days Aunt Petunia seemed especially kempt to forcing him to weed the gardens and dust the living room, but Harry had no idea why until this morning.  
  
"Marge is going to be here tonight!" shrilled Aunt Petunia, "and it better not end up like last time!"  
  
Although Aunt Petunia was his only true blood relation in the house, she treated Harry no different from any of the other members of the house and the fact that Aunt Marge who was a beefy, mustached woman who bred dogs out in the country, was going to be here again only made Harry sigh. His last experience with Aunt Marge had resulted in her had resulted in madness and Harry leaving the house, and at that time, being thought to be in grave danger.  
  
Harry spent the morning washing the dishes, tidying the guest bedroom, washing the car, pruning the bushes, and it wasn't until he was nearly finished mowing the front lawn, that old Mrs. Figg came ambling across Privet Drive. Mrs. Figg was elderly and bat-like and it wasn't until last summer that Harry had learned that Mrs. Figg was a Squib, or a person with magical parents, but no magical powers of their own. It wasn't until last summer when Harry appreciated the cat-loving, stooped woman who, when Harry was younger, used to force him to look at photos of every cat she had ever owned.  
  
This summer she and Harry had spent many hours at her house. Although neither seemed to be able to comfortably talk about the return of Lord Voldemort very well, they spent many hours talking about their experiences in the magical world. Mrs. Figg had told Harry that she was married to a wizard he had never met and that he had been away for several years. Although Harry had thought about that some, he wasn't sure if Mrs. Figg would tell him anymore about it, as she looked near tears when she told Harry last week.  
  
She had also seemed to be on the verge of tears when she told Harry about how she was the only one of her parent's seven children who was a squib, and although she still seemed to fit in fine with the Magical World, she told Harry, "sometimes I don't feel very useful, especially when it comes to you. Last summer when I could only watch you fight off the dementors. Not sure why Dumbledore wants me here." Harry had truly felt sorry for Mrs. Figg for the first time ever. One afternoon, he had helped her clean out her many cat litter boxes that were spread out across her house, and even got to eat fresh baked cookie afterwards, rather than the plates of smelly cabbage that he was accustomed to.  
  
Although Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia knew nothing about her magical background, or the lack-there of , Harry supposed if they were to find out about her connection to the magical world, they would forbid Harry from seeing her ever again.  
  
"Hi Harry!" Yelled Mrs. Figg enthusiastically as she ambled slowly towards him.  
  
"Hi," said Harry, as he turned the lawnmower off so he could hear her, and more importantly, she cold hear him.  
  
"Care for some afternoon tea?" she asked, acknowledging the fact that Harry must have been working for many hours, as he was covered in a significant amount of dirt.  
  
Harry paused. Leaving the lawn half mowed would leave Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon furious, but at the same time, afternoon tea with Mrs. Figg would mean an afternoon without Harry. Aunt Petunia may have to alert Dudley, who now spent his days at the gym, making him look even more beefy and vast, to come home, but it would rid them of what they thought was the imperfection in their perfect household.  
  
"Sure," replied Harry, I'd love to."  
  
Harry fastened his pace and began walking down Privet Drive with Mrs. Figg. One of her cats, a snowy white cat, with fat paws, named Mr. Tibbles was tabbing along as Mr. Figg slowly ambled along next to Harry.  
  
"You know those missing muggles that were going to Dean, Harry?" she asked arbitrarily as they turned the corner to Wistera Walk.  
  
Harry paused, hoping that maybe she would tell him something. "Yeah," he said cynically, "I read about it in the Daily Prophet."  
  
Mrs. Figg, who was staring at Mr. Tibbles, looked at Harry again. "Dumbledore reckons it has something to do with you-know-who. Ministry's tryin' to keep it quiet though, don't want a panic to break out," she sighed heavily and continued. "They reckon that little boy that was coming to Hogwarts next year, Mark.. Mark something." She paused, "the thing is Harry, he used to live right in this neighborhood until last Christmas. Dumbledore just found out this morning, and he reckons it might have something to do with you."  
  
A mix of shock and interest mingled in Harry's mind. Why was it that everything always had to do with him? He had never really had what could be called a normal year at Hogwarts. First year, he was trying to save the Sorcerer's Stone, second year everybody thought he was petrifying people, third year he had a what was thought to be a dangerous criminal after him, fourth year he was entered in the Triwizard Tournament by a death eater, and last year everybody had thought he had finally lost his marbles. He defiantly had a knack for trouble.  
  
"Re-really?" Harry stuttered.  
  
"Yep," Mrs. Figg replied, rather nonchalantly. "Dumbledore wanted me to tell you as soon as I could, reckons that even though the Order's protecting you, something might be up."  
  
"The Order's still protecting me?" Harry suddenly replied. That summer he hadn't seen a single trace of Mundungus, Tonks, Kingsley or Lupin. For all he knew, he was alone again, protected by the magic his mother placed with him. Why hadn't they told him?  
  
"Why most certainly yes!" Mrs. Figg exclaimed suddenly, "after the dementors last summer why not!? Sometimes I wonder how you've managed to do all this, even when you don't have an ounce of common sense!"  
  
"Why didn't they tell me?" Harry asked.  
  
"Because boy, your Aunt and Uncle wouldn't like it if a wizard suddenly showed up on their front porch, asking if they could spend time with you. My, oh my" she said exasperatedly, "you really don't have much common sense do you boy?"  
  
Finally Mrs. Figg's old musty vinyl house loomed into view. Outside, nearly two-dozen cats surrounded the front door, as if waiting to be let in. The sounds of "meows" filled the air as all the cats realized she was home. Harry was accustomed to Mrs. Figg having a lot of cats (especially since he had looked at pictures of every single one of them, but now, it seemed like she had more cats than ever; snowy white carts, ginger, swishy bobtails, even a few black cats mingled in here and there. Harry had always wondered what had driven this eccentric, mad old lady to love cats so much as to nearly have a cat zoo.  
  
"Shoo!" Mrs. Figg yelled as the cats scurried in every which direction; into the bushes, into the yard, some even then up into the trees in her front yard. "Harry's here!" she announced, as if it meant something to them.  
  
"What do you say we have a cup of tea and talk Harry?" Mrs. Figg asked as she opened the rickety wooden door and motioned Harry in. The house smelled terribly of cabbage and cats. It was at first a rather nauseating feeling, but soon Harry got used to it. Around the walls of Mrs. Figg's den were pictures of nearly every cat she had probably ever owned. He would have never guessed that this was the home of someone from a magical background. Although Mrs. Figg was a squib, he would have thought she would have at least had something; maybe a little floo powder beside the fireplace, or a book about Giant Wars, but there was nothing whatsoever.  
  
Harry threw himself down on the old sofa after he brushed off the place that looked like it had the least cat hair. Why would Lord Voldemort want to capture somebody who had lived near him? He knew who Mrs. Figg was talking about. It was Mark Evans, a skinny little pallid boy who had often been the target of Dudley's gang ever since Harry had left for Hogwarts. Although Harry had never said a thing to Mark, he had always liked the small boy and felt a connection with him, although he hadn't realized it until now.  
  
"The years in which Voldemort had risen so many years ago were marked with disappearances like this," thought Harry. Like Hermione had said when Harry had last seen her now almost a month ago, it wouldn't be long until the second war began, and the disappearances were sure to happen.  
  
Harry flinched as he thought about Hermione. He missed her and Ron more than ever this summer, yet somehow, he understood why he must stay at Privet Drive and as much as he wanted to get his broomstick out of the closet and fly off to the Burrow. But he knew he couldn't.  
  
Mrs. Figg limped back into the room, her face more batty than ever in the shadowy light. "Here's your tea dear, now let me put Mr. Tibbles back out and I'll be right back in."  
  
She walked back in the kitchen, but stopped right as she got to the peeling doorframe. Harry could see the growing shadow of a cat, moving against the wall, as it grew larger and larger, into the form of what looked like a human.  
  
Mrs. Figg suddenly screeched loudly, rattling Harry's eardrum.  
  
"Harry's here!" she squealed, "not now Aberforth!"  
  
(Expect this story to be updated every week with a new chapter. Next week, Chapter Two: Aberforth Dumbledore, will be added.) 


End file.
